


where stars die (light cannot escape)

by emmalauren



Category: Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018), Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 06:58:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17442119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmalauren/pseuds/emmalauren
Summary: Betty Cooper is the new face on the silver screen, on top of her game and winning over audiences left and right. Jughead Jones, the elusive and brilliant artist who appears in a select few films but manages to pick the best ones every time, are cast together in a movie. They fall in love, but they are both too fragile to break the other any further. After Jughead pulls his famous vanishing act, what happens when they meet once again at the premiere for their movie?





	where stars die (light cannot escape)

**Author's Note:**

> not my idea! in the slightest! the credit for this goes to @paperlesscrown on tumblr, who had this ingenious plot idea. i wrote this in two days, which is a very long first chapter, and hopefully a standard i can maintain!!!

It was no secret that Betty Cooper was the next big thing - it was Hollywood’s trend, it’s rhythm. Young stars came and went, some clinging on to the shreds of fame that were dangled in front of their faces, others fading into the shadows they had barely clawed their way out of. There were, however, a lucky few - the ones who gained the favor of the golden men and women held glory on their pedestals, the ones who took the express train from the bottom straight to the silver screen world - who, in a brilliant flash of light, captured the hearts and attention of audiences everywhere. 

Betty Cooper was no exception to this rule - she was a hardworking girl from a small New York town with the perfect origin story and the perfect face. The blonde girl-next-door look would always be the Hollywood type, and when you get cast in one good movie, the rest roll through the door. She had a good agent, a killer ponytail, and a work ethic unlike most in the business. She had few limits on what she would do for her work, and it wasn’t long after her first film was released that she was suddenly cast in seven different movies, all with well-reputed directors and instantly recognizable cast lists. 

Jughead Jones, however, hadn’t crawled his way out of the shadows - he had shaped them for his craft and strolled right back into them, only to be dragged, kicking and screaming, right into the light. His uncle had been one of the most famous Hollywood stars in the times of cowboys and Indians, but he was a Welsh boy at heart with an affinity for accents and vanishing acts. He didn’t have connections in the industry - people were banging down doors to get his number. Directors called daily, and it was rare that he picked up the phone. But when he did, it was like watching someone walking on water. He was made for the screen, with both the talent and the look. It was just the world off the screen he despised. 

Eight months after her first movie, Poinsettia, was released, Betty Cooper had closed the book on six different movie genres, each blending faster than the speed of light into the next. But while Betty Cooper was like other girls in most respects, she hadn’t grown up reading fairy-tales and watching Disney. She had grown up reading about the past, among the knights of the round table, watching Leonardo da Vinci paint the Mona Lisa, and soaring higher and higher with the Wright Brothers. She yearned for history, to become the girl on a tapestry watching Adonis from afar. She had been offered several, but not the right one. Not yet.   
“Elizabeth! Elizabeth Cooper!” It was a shrill voice that broke through the silence of Betty’s loft, tearing her eyes reluctantly from a well-worn book with no title.   
“I’m in here, Alex.” She called half-heartedly, closing the book and sitting up with a sigh. It had been two weeks since she had wrapped her last film and her agent was practically foaming at the mouth for her to sign another one. “And for the last time, call me Betty. Please.” Betty watched as her agent rounded the corner into the living room, arms wrapped protectively around a thick bundle of papers and heels clicking on the floor.   
“I got it for you. I got your history. It’s not quite Queen Guinevere, but it will do. Look at the director.” Betty took the script from Alex and stared down at the page.   
“No way. Hermione Lodge? She’s a powerhouse in that industry. I haven’t heard of anybody working on any of her movies this soon out of the gate? What’s it about?” Betty glanced up at Alex, who was practically bursting with unbridled joy, brown curls wobbling on top of her head.   
“It’s set in the 1940s in France. It’s about an American girl who has moved to France after the war to look for her brother, who had been drafted and to help the French people rebuild. She discovers a British soldier walking through a field one day and takes him back to the farmhouse she’s staying in to give him a place to rest until he figures out where to go next. In return, he decides to teach her how to fly one of the bombers she has found and fixed up. Think elements of PTSD, romance, female independence and some semitism.” At Betty’s look, Alex hurried on. “That you fight, of course. No Jewish hating by the Jewish actress, obviously. It starts filming next month in France, somewhere near Normandy. I just have to confirm that you’re on for it, because the table read is in two weeks and they’re still looking at a few other people for the role.”  
“Absolutely, I’ll take it. Give me two hours to read it and I’ll call the casting agent myself.” 

“Forsyth Pendelton Jones the Third!” The voice was muffled through the heavy oak door, breaking the silence of the London townhouse. A loud pounding followed the voice, making the milk vibrate on the breakfast table. Jughead Jones was hungover and hungry, and not open to company, but he recognized the voice and he knew it wasn’t going away any time soon.   
“I’m coming. I’m coming.” His voice slurred, the words thick with sleep and a Welsh accent that was normally hidden away with impeccable talent. He undid the three locks and cracked open the door to look at the person outside, only to be almost knocked over by a short Latina.   
“You need to learn to answer your calls.” She scolded, turning and looking over the nearly empty space with a frown.   
“I changed my number five times since I saw you last, Veronica. What are you doing in my house?” Jughead turned and trudged back towards the kitchen, tugging at his hair with one hand.   
“Listen, I know you’re selective about the pieces you’re in, or whatever, but I think is the one for you. My mom’s the director, but I promise it’s not a nepotism thing. You’re talented, Jug, and you know it. Just hear me out, okay?” Jughead sighed and tilted his head back. He’d heard this spiel more times than he wanted to count, and he was tired of it. It was the same “we want you” and as soon as he considered he was being handed a crappy script and a contract and then looked upon in shock as he ripped these “coveted” things up and told everybody no. He knew better than to try and shut Veronica up, so instead he just nodded and let her continue, pouring a bowl of cereal for himself as she did.   
“It’s set in post-world war two France, and you’d be playing a RAF soldier who was gunned down and tortured by Nazi supporters. You fall in love with the girl, teach her how to fly your plane in exchange for lessons on how to be “normal” around people again, and then-” Jughead sighed, cutting Veronica off and inciting a burning glare from the girl.   
“Let me guess. We have a little bump in the road because of my PTSD but we end up better people and I end up completely cured of my PTSD.” Veronica huffed, pulling out a chair and sitting.   
“No, you ignorant ass. It doesn’t work. That’s what makes it different. We don’t cure you, we don’t magically make you two end up together. It’s the Hollywood formula, no one can deny it, but people tend to sit up and take notice when we don’t follow the rules. That’s the goal, Jug. This movie - the plot, the setting, all of it can be changed and molded. Our end goal is set, Jug. We’d really like your help in achieving it.”   
“Give me a couple hours to sober up. Then, if you can get me the script, I’ll read it. I’m not making promises, Veronica. But I will read it.” 

Betty Cooper hated surprises more than almost anything else - maybe because she was a control freak, but more than possible it was because she was terrible at controlling her emotions if she didn’t know what was heading her way. She didn’t like showing her feelings on the reality of a situation to strangers unless she knew it was going to be a reaction that they all wanted, or expected. So, bundled up in a car headed east on a backcountry road out of Los Angeles, she was uncomfortable. Aside from the confirmation of her role as Katherine Williams in the movie, she had heard nothing. She had been given an address via text message and strict instructions to take a car that wouldn’t be recognized and bring no one with her. Desert California was pretty as the sun rose, but all Betty Cooper could focus on was the low square building approaching down the road. As she stepped out of the car, all she could do was swallow down her fears and knock on the steel door, follow the man in the suit down the hallway, and freeze as she stepped into a long room. No one had noticed that she was there yet, which was a small blessing in itself, and it provided her with the opportunity to look around the room. There were the fiery red locks of Cheryl Blossom, speaking in hushed tones with a boy in a sweater vest. Across the room stood Hermione Lodge and who Betty assumed was her daughter, Veronica, looking annoyedly down at her phone. A few more people sat at the table, all dressed down so Betty had a hard time placing just who they were. Betty took another step into the room and looked around, feeling her nervousness lift just slightly as she recognized the elements of the room - tulips in vases, like the kind her mother used to grow. Plastic chairs, the kind that her grandmother used to unfold for their Thanksgiving get-togethers. There were elements of the Hollywood she had grown used to - Voss water bottles sat in front of each of the place settings and what she assumed was an original Rembrandt hung on the wall (most likely removed from storage just for the table read). It was familiar in a way and it was what she needed to take another step into the room, and then another, on her way across the room to introduce herself to the famous Hermione Lodge. Before she could, she heard a voice, accented just so that she was unable to place it, cut through her thoughts. “Excuse me.” She turned, conscious of her ponytail so that she didn’t hit the newcomer in the eye and stared, wide-eyed, at Jughead Jones. She knew exactly who he was - his uncle had been her first celebrity crush when she was little, and it was like staring into rippled water - the same cheekbones, the same chin, and the eyes, the color of Adirondack lakes and Niagara Falls, her favorite places to vacation as a child. He gave her a quick nod of acknowledgment and made to move past her quickly, but before either of them could even begin to move out of the other’s orbit, another voice broke through the relative quiet of the room.   
“Good. It seems our Katherine and our Jay have met. Shall we begin?” 

Jughead Jones was tired - jetlag and redeye flights would do that to you, especially when you flew economy. Driving straight from the coast of Wales to London, crashing one night and hopping a plane from Heathrow to LAX via Newark the next was draining, but it provided him with all the entertainment he needed. Jughead Jones was a people-watcher, a habit he had inherited from his mother. His uncle had been too caught up in the clouds of fame to notice the world spinning beneath his feet, but Jughead just liked to sit and watch the earth move; hop on the merry-go-round of life and turn his attention to the horses moving too quickly to watch the way they met the floor and joined with everything around them. It was the only time to himself he was going to have for the next six months if he knew Hermione. And he knew Hermione. He knew everyone. He prided himself on the ability to see through everyone like reading a book and keeping his own cover firmly shut and locked to anyone who even looked his way. There wasn’t anyone for miles in the California dirt, aside from a distant settling cloud of dust and perhaps a tumbleweed or two. It screamed Hermione Lodge, no matter how hard every contractor and interior designer worth their immense paycheck had no doubt tried to create the very opposite effect. He knew where he was supposed to go, so of course, he did the exact opposite, tugging on the crown bracelet around his wrist and slipping through a broken screen door and down a hallway. It was almost silent, but the nervous energy exuding from a closed-door down one of the few hallways drew him like a magnet. Just as he reached for the handle, his phone vibrated in his back pocket, once, twice, three times. He huffed air out of his nostrils and answered it.   
“Yes, Veronica. I’m in my truck outside. I’ll make my way in after I finish powdering my nose.” He could practically feel the anger exuding from the young Lodge’s breath and he grinned to himself. “In fact, I may just speed back to the nearest CVS and see what I can find to really help me make an impression. Your mother won’t mind if I’m, oh, say two hours late? You never really can tell with the LA traffic.” He could hear Veronica gasp indignantly.   
“You know, my life is riding on you showing up. I promised my mom-” Jughead hung up the phone with a roll of his eyes and strolled back down the hallway. Despite the promise of a secret behind the door he had just been eyeing, he wasn’t going to mess this one up. He found the room without difficulty and slipped in unnoticed, coming up behind a blonde girl. He cleared his throat, and then, when she didn’t respond, spoke. “Excuse me.” She turned, and Jughead tried desperately to control his reaction. She had eyes like emeralds, flat beneath the fluorescent light but with the promise of sparkle and joy. She was like the girl he had once dreamed of when glow-in-the-dark constellations still decorated his ceiling and his world hadn’t yet come apart at the seams like old wallpaper in a crumbling house. She was everything that he had once promised himself and just within her eyes, she held the remnants of everything he had lost. So, he nodded at her, tried to breathe, and move forward. Instead, he could only listen as Hermione Lodge confirmed what the deepest depths of his belly had whispered to him moments earlier. “Good. It seems our Katherine and Jay have met. Shall we begin?”

**Author's Note:**

> i've always wanted to write something like this, so here it is! barely! not really! but hopefully it'll pick up speed and take shape soon enough. 
> 
> As always, I am @emma-laurennn on Tumblr, so come find me with your thoughts, and all your opinions.


End file.
